Safe Harbor
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: Charles Milverton's blackmailer brother makes a mistake, secrets are semi-revealed. H/W slash implied.


It was a fine late summer evening when I entered 221B Baker Street, a sizable file of papers in hand. It had been a … lively … evening and I was a bit tired but rather pleased with the results of my sojourn when I entered the rooms I shared with my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes.

He examined me curiously when I came in, his brown eyes narrow with concern. "You've gotten into a scuffle, I see. Are you alright?"

"Right as rain," I replied, knowing that few, if any, of my activities could be hidden from those sharp eyes. "I ran into the relative of an old friend today. Do you remember Mr. Milverton, the blackmailer?"

Holmes look of concern turned to one of outright disgust. "Yes, may he rest in torment. Which relative? He only has one brother that I know of but he was chased out of England some years ago by his own sibling, from what I remember. Milverton didn't appreciate the competition since they were both in the same line of larceny."

"Well, since his bigger, meaner brother is dead, I suppose that Milverton the second thought he could pick up where he left off," I said, removing my jacket and putting aside my cane, before tossing the file on the table next to the fireplace grate. "I received a charming demand, not even a request, to meet him at the Lion's Head this evening to discuss a matter that would interest me greatly according to him."

For a moment, there were thunderclouds in Holmes' eyes. His mouth turned down in a moue of fury. "My god, has he dared to ply his filthy trade upon you? I swear I will …" He paused, swallowing hard and it was heartening to see such fondness for my own self practically radiating from Holmes, who was not known to be so demonstrative. With visible effort, he calmed himself. "What happened?"

I couldn't help but smile at him as I took my chair, pouring myself whatever tea was leftover on the tray. "Oh, he attempted to ply me, but oddly enough, not for myself. He claimed to have found a file leftover from his brother's worldly remains, one that was kept hidden from all the rest - those that we successfully burned, as you remember. This file supposedly holds letters that could be held against you and he thought that I might want to spare you the anxiety and take care of it. Of course, in truth, he was too afraid to meet with you directly and thought I'd be the easier sell," I laughed. "Alas for him."

Holmes paled slightly and shook his head. "Watson, what did you do?"

"I paid for it and left." I shrugged. "Paid with interest actually."

Distressed, Holmes covered his eyes with his hand. "Is he dead? Please tell me he's not dead."

I waved my hand dismissively before reaching for a biscuit. "No, no. He's only somewhat broken - the chair I cracked over his head was terribly flimsy - and has a shiny pence stuck in his ear for good measure. So there's your file, my friend, neatly paid for to burn at your leisure." My wrath against the miscreant suddenly flared again. "To think, telling me, of all people, that he intended to blackmail you, of all people and thinking he'd make it out of such an encounter with his skull intact. The absolute nerve … the gall!"

"Oh, Watson," Holmes chided, but I could see he was both relieved and proud. "Did you examine the contents of the file?"

I stopped mid-chew. "Absolutely not. What could possibly be in there that would interest or disturb me? I dare say I was with you when half those misguided adventures were spawned."

His answering smile was tremulous. "Surely my biographer would be curious as to what a man such as Milverton would find interesting enough to entice me to pay to keep secret. There is nothing that would surprise you?'

"I can't think of anything."

His head tilted to one side, with a winsome look. "What if you discovered that I was not who I claimed to be? Perhaps my name is not Sherlock."

I met his gaze straight on. "Forgive me for saying so, but that could be nothing but an improvement."

"Or perhaps Mycroft and I are hiding a mad brother in the attic?"

I snorted. "How could you tell the difference? All three of you should be in the attic if that were the case."

That actually made him laugh. "All right. Maybe it's a batch of imprudent love letters. Surely those would fascinate you, my curious fellow."

I paused, for there he had a slight point. I was always curious about Holmes very secretive emotional life, but not so much that I would betray his trust, ever. "There is a very narrow list of people to choose from in that regard. A correspondence with Irene Adler would be rather scandalous, I suppose. Is it she?"

"Do you hear her laughing from beyond the beyond? No, certainly not, as admiring as I was of her," he replied with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, is that the most imprudent sort of romance you can think of?"

With a squirm in my chair, I was forced to think for a moment and I honestly didn't like the theory my mind was immediately drawn to. "It's not that schoolmate of yours, is it? That Victor Trevor fellow?"

Holmes gaze sharpened as he examined me closely indeed. "Would that upset you, my Watson?"

"Of course it would," I replied indignantly, even as he his face fell, but not for long. "Trevor's a swine. I can't stand the fellow. Surely you can do better than that. Or are they just school notes between boys? If that's the case, well, most of us have been there at some point, I suppose. Either way, it makes no difference to me, as long as Milverton is relieved of your personal interests, I'm content. Just throw it on the fire and be done with it, Holmes. I have no desire to see any of it."

Oh, the pride and affection that shone from Holmes face after I made that proclamation. "I will, Watson, but let me look through it first to make sure everything is there. And, I will read to you just a tiny bit from one of the correspondences that were written in haste and never sent while I was hiding overseas. Moran must have gotten a hold of some of these when I was forced to flee a bolthole and gave them directly to the brother, thinking he could lure me out with them at some point. For I would not have been so careless to leave Milverton's manor without burning my own file, I assure you."

Now this piqued my interest and made my temper, already irritated, flare even more hotly under my collar. "I dare say you're making me wish I'd done more than hit him with a chair, Holmes. In league with that bastard, as if I thought he could sink no lower."

His hands shaking slightly, Holmes opened the file and leafed through the pages of handwritten letters, a wistful look on his face. For a moment, I felt his sadness as he read and my heart ached for him. Who could it be to inspire such tender feelings in my normally distant friend? Who could be so hardhearted to resist him, the most brilliant and noble man I'd ever met? It was quite inconceivable to me especially as he quoted a snippet from one of the notes …

 _"Time passes slowly and it's only the thought of you, existing happily far from me, that keeps me tethered to this world, through storms both great and small. With you as both my anchor and my long-sought treasure, the ship of my life sails on, always with you aboard in some manner. I would be lost without at least the memory of you, how I wish there was some way to let you know how very dear you are … how much you are loved by this poor, unworthy heart."_

My mouth hung open with utter surprise at this recital. I'd never heard such passionate words from Holmes, indeed, I didn't think he'd known emotions such as that, let alone ones so deeply and purely felt. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes and I struggled to find words to console him. "Oh, Holmes …"

With a flick of his wrist, the file flew into the fire and was reduced to ashes in a moment. "Don't feel badly, Watson. I was in a much worse place then."

"But, of this person. Surely there is some way to convince them, whomever they are, to give you a chance," I insisted, my voice thick with distress. "If you'd honor me with their name, no matter who they might be, I would plead your case for you with all the conviction I have within me."

"Or else hit them over the head with a chair if they refuse?" Holmes grinned, his eyes also watery. "No, Watson. Your offer is kind, but this particular love is an impossible one. I've become resigned to letting it travel its natural course. I am content in my work and in our … ' He paused, taking a shaky breath. "Friendship. This is all I need, truly."

I didn't press the matter, as it upset him, even with all the misgivings I had. Silently, I swore to somehow find a way to help him in his distress for no one deserved to love and be loved in return more than Holmes did. Having determined that, I was content to sit in companionable silence for a bit until he picked up the violin and played it, with some difficulty, as his old shoulder injury forbade him from playing as easily as he once did. Still, the tune was both sad and sweet and eventually, I found myself nodding off to its pleasant sound.

My dreams during that doze were strange wherein a rug was draped over my chest and someone's gentle hand ghosted over my hair, whispering something about ships no longer lost at sea, but in a safe harbor at last, with love everlasting, although for the life of me, I could never be quite sure what that dream could have possibly meant.

END


End file.
